


Fine Piece of Machinery

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl, AU.  Oneshot.  Daryl thought she might enjoy a ride—and it was a fine piece of machinery.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Kudos: 16





	Fine Piece of Machinery

AN: This was based on a Tumblr prompt from probably over a year ago. Better late than never, I guess. 

I am giving you a full smut warning.

I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol sat on the couch in her sweatpants and read a book. That’s where she’d spent most of her day since it was winter break and, as a teacher, she could actually sit down for what felt like the first time since August.

In the bathroom, she heard the sounds of the shower turning off. Daryl had finished his after-work shower. She heard him humming to himself, the remnants of some song stuck in his head, more than likely, from his drive home from work or from the radio that blared all day at the shop. She heard him walking to the bedroom to get dressed.

And then she heard him coming into the living room. 

Carol had been married to Daryl for four years now. She loved him more every single day of their marriage—even on the days when they were finding each other to not be very loveable. Having seen her reading when he got home, and having stolen a kiss from her as a greeting and asked about her book, he’d clearly decided to mirror her. 

Daryl wasn’t quite the avid reader that Carol was, but he liked the occasional novel and, more than anything, he liked magazines. He liked things with short pieces of information—short chapters, articles, or stories. He liked something he could devour and feel accomplished. He liked the reward of completing something.

He brought a magazine with him and sat down on the couch.

Carol smiled at the grin he was wearing as he watched her for a moment.

“What?” She asked.

“Just like lookin’ at my wife,” Daryl offered. “That OK?” 

Carol smiled to herself at his sweetness—and his expression. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I love you, and you’re very sweet,” she said. “But—what are you up to?” 

The wicked grin told her that she hadn’t missed the mark entirely. Daryl tried to cover it over, though, with quickly feigned innocence. 

“I don’t know why the hell you’d accuse me of bein’ up to anything,” he said. “I’m just—comin’ in here to read with my wife. Just like Ward Cleaver or some shit.” 

Carol snorted. 

“Alright, Ward,” she said. “Enjoy—Hot Rod Renovation.”

“Thank you,” Daryl said, opening his magazine with a flourish that made it even more clear to Carol that he was up to something. “I will.” For a moment, Carol watched him as he settled into his magazine and started reading. They he looked at her, and raised his eyebrows at her. “What the hell you starin’ at me for? Go on—go back to your book.” 

Daryl’s slightly dramatic “waving her away” only built Carol’s suspicions, but she smiled to herself and did return to her book—only to reread the same paragraph that she’d read at least six times now. 

When she felt his fingers tickle the back of her neck, she didn’t immediately brush him away. When he pulled the delicate hair on the back of her neck, though, to harass her, she reached a hand back and slapped at him.

“Asshole,” she said, laughing to herself even as she said it. Daryl laughed too. He was always messing with her when he got bored—tugging the hair on the back of her neck, squeezing pressure points on her body that he could reach, and goosing her if he was behind her. 

“I stopped,” Daryl said when she swatted at him again for good measure. “I’ma stop. I stopped. Go back to your book.” 

Carol curled against the arm of the couch and got comfortable with the throw pillow she’d been hugging. She reread the same paragraph again, paused a moment in anticipation of Daryl’s next act of harassment and, when it didn’t come, finally digested the many-times-reread paragraph before moving on. It didn’t take long before she became wrapped up in the story again and let herself drift into the imaginary world.

Daryl slipped into his reading, too, and soon there was just quiet peace that was only interrupted by the occasional sound of a turning page, an itch idly being scratched, or some involuntary reaction to something being read.

Carol wasn’t too surprised, then, when she heard Daryl commenting on what he was reading. It wasn’t unusual for him to want to share things with her—thoughts and commentary—as he read something. she rested a finger on her page, marking where she was, and continued to stare at the page while she waited for him to finish. It wouldn’t take him long, and he usually only required something like a hum of confirmation that she was paying him some attention.

“Hot damn,” he commented. “That is one fine piece of machinery. Lines are good. Aerodynamic. You can tell there’s just a lotta raw damn power there, you know?” 

Carol hummed. She’d been to a dozen car shows. She’d been to drag races. She’d learned to appreciate cars because that was something that Daryl loved and appreciated—and making them beautiful was the way that he made his living. She really didn’t mind them, and she could appreciate the beauty of a well-restored old car more than any other automobile, but she wasn’t nearly as invested as Daryl was in them.

“I ain’t kiddin’. This shit is—this is damn near a work of art. Look at this—Carol. You gotta see this. You gonna be impressed.” 

Carol sighed, but glanced over to see the car that he so desperately wanted her to experience with him. When she looked, though, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, and Daryl laughed quietly. Daryl—asshole that he could be when he was in a mood—had taken his dick out, hard as it was thanks to his efforts and imagination, and rested it on his open magazine.

“Don’t go whipping that thing out,” Carol said. “You’ll get a papercut and nobody’s interested in looking at that.” 

“No?” He challenged, smirking. “You tellin’ me that…” He reached his hand over and rubbed Carol through her sweatpants. He had it memorized. He knew exactly where and how to rub her to get her attention. It worked every time unless she just truly wasn’t in the mood. “You tellin’ me that she ain’t interested at all? Not even a lil’ bit?” He winked at her and Carol felt her face run warm. “He’ll take her on a ride. Show her a real good time.” 

Carol hummed at him, swallowing back her laughter. 

“I knew you were up to something,” she said.

“I could be up to a whole lot if you’ll just—come on over here. Throw your leg on over here—come on…” He patted his thigh as an invitation for her to join him, and he moved his magazine out of the way. “Real quick…”

“Real quick?” Carol asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Or slow, Sweetheart, whatever you want,” Daryl countered. 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“It’s easy for you,” she said. “But—I’ve got to take everything off. At least my pants and underwear—it’s a whole thing.” 

Daryl clearly swallowed back his own amusement at her particular protest.

“Is it that hard to come outta your pants?” 

“I’m feeling pretty lazy,” Carol confirmed.

Daryl considered it a moment and nodded before turning around, pulling his knees up into the couch and facing her. His hands went toward her waist. 

“Then you don’t gotta pull ‘em off,” he said. “You just—pull ‘em down and I’ll bend you right on over here. You can even use your pillow here to get extra comfy. I’ll take care of the whole damn thing for you.” 

Carol laughed to herself when he started trying to move her. Finally, she gave in. She dog-eared the page in her book and dropped it over the side of the couch. She twisted enough to catch a kiss from Daryl before he’d worked her into the position that he wanted her in. Perched on her knees, with her back to him, she allowed him to drag her pants and underwear down. 

He was a man on a mission—that much was clear. And the truth of it was that she didn’t mind indulging him when he was after a quickie like this. He never really gave her anything to complain about, and she understood, herself, the desire that sometimes bubbled up for just a little release. 

“There—you see now. You got your pillow? You comfortable?” Daryl asked. 

Carol laughed to herself.

“You know—sometimes I think you and Merle are so different that one of you had to be adopted,” she mused. “But then you get horny like this and…I see the resemblance.” 

Daryl laughed, but he also shushed her. 

“This ain’t the time I wanna talk about my brother. There you go—got you enough movement? Gotta introduce you to this—this fine fuckin’ piece of machinery I got here, Carol.” 

Daryl patted her thigh as an invitation for her to spread her legs, and she did so as much as the couch allowed. She might have teasingly complained about his lack of attention, but before she could, Daryl slipped his hand between her legs and made it clear that he intended to give her as much attention as she needed to want to go on a ride with his “fine piece of machinery.” 

Carol closed her eyes to the sensations. Daryl continued to rub and stroke her until her instincts took over and she was practically riding his hand without thinking about more than simply trying to get more sensation from him. 

He squeezed her shoulder affectionately, kneading the muscle, and she felt him rubbing his dick against her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sensation of his entrance. 

“You ready? I’m about to—pull this bad boy into the garage.” 

Carol laughed to herself and buried her face in her pillow.

“I’ve been waiting,” she said.

In response, and only to fuck with her more, Daryl did enter her. Hard, fast, and entirely. He bumped her cervix— just as he knew he could, especially from this angle—and she grunted at him. He laughed quietly. The sensation wasn’t exactly painful, but it never failed to catch her for a second, and sometimes he did it just for the element of surprise.

“Asshole,” Carol muttered, laughing to herself. “You hit the wall. Oh…” she meant to scold him, but he quickly started to make up for anything she might have reprimanded him for with the slow, long, satisfying strokes that she liked best in this position.

“Accidental fender-bender,” Daryl teased. “Gotta work on my parkin’ job—get her lined up better.” He increased his speed a little. “Shit—gotta—get her in there just right…”

He slipped the hand around that wasn’t holding onto her shoulder and found her clit. He worked her until she was finally biting the throw pillow beneath her.

“Gotta get it just fuckin’ right—shit—just fuckin’ right,” Daryl offered. 

“You’re getting it right,” Carol offered. “Shit…shit…” She could feel herself starting to come. She cried out into her pillow, not embarrassed by the feelings that washed over her. Daryl liked to hear them. He liked to hear evidence that he could take care of her and give her what she wanted and needed.

“You sure?” Daryl asked, not stopping his work. “Feels like—the damn bay door is closin’. Fuckin’ walls—closin’ in.” 

Carol couldn’t continue to tease him, though, because she was too focused on her orgasm. It rolled through her and, sure that she was OK and had gotten enough out of the experience to keep her from resenting the fact that she’d given up part of her relaxation time for him to scratch an itch, Daryl turned his attention to what he most wanted. In the aftermath of her orgasm, and still enjoying the aftershocks, Carol gladly accepted the hard, fast thrusts and the occasional assault on her cervix that, at the moment, didn’t bother her in the least.

Daryl collapsed against her back for a moment after he came and, as he often did in that position, he affectionately bit her shoulder.

“Look at that shit,” he said with a laugh, his voice still ragged from his exertions. “So damn wet—you’da thought I took it through a car wash.” 

Carol laughed to herself and Daryl echoed the sound.

“Asshole,” she muttered. But, just like always, he knew she really didn’t mean it.


End file.
